


Room-mating for Dummies: How to Successfully Cohabitate with the Secret Love of Your Life

by allimarie_xf



Category: Arrow (TV 2012)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Roommates/Housemates, Best Friends, College AU, Episodic Chapters, F/M, Fluff and Humor, Friends With Benefits, Mutual Pining, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Porn With Plot, Roommates, Sexual Tension, Slow Burn, Voyeurism, but this is definitely an Olicity story, especially at the beginning, implied other sexual relationships, to be clear Oliver and Felicity have implied and sometimes overheard sex with NOT each other
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-02
Updated: 2020-08-29
Packaged: 2021-03-02 01:28:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 14,100
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23963125
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/allimarie_xf/pseuds/allimarie_xf
Summary: Best friends Oliver and Felicity share an apartment while she's at MIT and he tries not to get kicked out of Harvard. They both enjoy healthy sex lives - just not with each other.Which is TOTALLY fine, okay? And if they happen to cross that line once or twice, it definitely doesn't have to be a big deal.Except, spoiler alert: it's not fine and it is a big deal.
Relationships: Oliver Queen/Felicity Smoak
Comments: 182
Kudos: 277





	1. Ray ‘Sweaty Palms’ Palmer

**Author's Note:**

> I want to really stress that while this is an Oliver/Felicity story at heart, they will absolutely be having (mostly implied) sex with other people in this fic, at least at the beginning, and decreasing as the story goes on. Though Olicity sex will absolutely be the driving force of the story, and...honestly anything more is really a spoiler, as far as you can have spoilers in a "porn with plot" story. ;) 
> 
> That being said, the /other sex won't be explicit, because the only sex that matters is Olicity's. (There might be one or two story-related pseudo exceptions to this, but I'll definitely put warnings on any chapter where that's a possibility.)
> 
> Basically my goal here is to have a mostly-fluffy/porn-with-plot episodic story that is very light on angst. (As in, I'm not planning on there being any angst but let's face it, this is me...probably some angst will sneak in here and there.) Each chapter can stand alone, but there will be an overarching story.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone - I know chapter 1 involves Ray Palmer, and many of you _hate_ Ray Palmer, but please don't let that deter you from reading this story! This is NOT a Ray story, at all, as in he probably won't even show up after this chapter. 
> 
> So anyway, if you're not a Ray fan (and I admit I lean into the "Ray-as-a-bit-stalkery" storyline here, which I know is cringey for many of you), don't sweat it. And if you _really_ can't stand him, you can honestly skip this first chapter.
> 
> (Though I happen to think it's worth reading so I hope you give it a shot ;)

“Oliver, Ray’s a good guy.”

His head rolls to the side to pin her with a skeptical look.

“He _is,”_ Felicity insists, flicking him briskly on the shoulder.

“Hey!” he protests. 

She makes a face and pushes against his thigh with her sock-clad foot.

“Okay Felicity,” he says, snatching her ankle and holding it captive as she tries to pull it back. “If by ‘good guy’ you mean ‘not likely to stalk you and murder you’ - oh wait,” he cuts himself off dramatically. “Only _one_ of those things hasn’t happened.” The _yet_ is implied.

“For the fifteenth time, Oliver, he wasn’t stalking me!” She finally manages to yank her foot out of his grasp, tucking it beneath her on the couch. “He was trying to offer homework help.”

“Which you didn’t need.” 

“Of course not, but he didn’t know that.”

“He should’ve known that,” Oliver counters.

“He _didn’t_ know that.”

“I’d say he had ample opportunity to figure it out _while he was grilling your classmates for your phone number and then pinging your phone’s GPS!”_ Oliver’s voice has steadily risen to a low-key bellow.

Felicity fixes him with a long stare, letting the silent echo of all their previous arguments on this subject make her points for her. Finally, “That was like two months ago, we’ve talked a lot since then.”

“He’s still a creep,” Oliver objects immediately.

“He’s not a creep.”

“Felicity. He was leaving unsigned post-it notes on our door for two weeks before he ever said a word to you. We live 5 miles from MIT. I called the cops, remember?”

“Yes, Oliver, of course I remember! I was the one who called _off_ the cops.”

“That was the wrong choice,” Oliver mutters.

“And you know what?” she continues, not acknowledging his words, “You’re right. He’s a creep. But fuck it, he gives good head.”

Oliver makes a face. “There’s no way that Ray ‘Sweaty Palms’ Palmer gives good head, Felicity, there’s just not.”

“‘Sweaty Palms’ Palmer? What are we, in junior high?”

“Have you shaken his hand? It’s apt.”

She unfolds herself from the couch and stands in front of him with her hands on her hips. “Not everyone has your charm and those smoldering blue eyes, Oliver, but you know what he does have? Dedication. Commitment.” She shrugs. “Stamina.” 

Oliver shudders. “Dedication? Stamina? Are you describing a horse, or a man?”

Felicity raises a perfect eyebrow. “What’s the difference? He’s a champion. A champion at eating pussy,” she enunciates crisply.

Oliver stands up from the couch, forcing Felicity to take a step back. “There’s no way he’s a champion.”

“Champion pussy eater,” she shouts, crossing her arms in front of her.

“Stop saying that.”

“No. Which part? Champion.”

“The other part.” He leans down so they’re at eye level, daring her to defy him.

“Pussy eater.” She takes a step back but he follows closely, not letting her put space between them.

“Stop!” he orders, hands dragging up her sides and making her squirm. He knows exactly where she’s most ticklish.

“No!” she hisses, lifting her chin defiantly as her back hits the wall. 

“I’ll show you champion pussy eating -” he smirks as he pins her against the wall, squirming and shrieking as he tickles her. There’s a knock on the door, and they freeze.

“That him?” he asks soberly, his hands still up her shirt.

She meets his dark gaze. “Better be.”

He cocks his head. “Why?”

Her fingers slide up his chest to hold his chin in place as she lifts on her toes to level him with a suggestive look. “Because you stressed me out and you know what will relax me? Getting eaten out. By Ray _'Pussy Eating'_ Palmer, that champion of oral sex.”

He keeps her pressed against the wall, holding her gaze for a long moment before she wiggles out of his hold, going to the door without a backwards glance.

“Ray!” she sings brightly when she throws the door wide. 

* * *

Things are going okay, Felicity and Ray bent over textbooks and coffee in the living room, Oliver loudly banging on dishes in the kitchen, until Ray mentions he signed up to attend her crossfit class the next morning.

“I’m sorry, what?”

“The 8:30 advanced crossfit class in the Wellness Center, you know, on campus.”

“Yeah, I know which crossfit class I go to, Ray, it was the other part that had me confused. The part where you said you’re going? How did you even know I go to that class?”

“Oh, it was simple deduction, really. See, you have a really toned ass, I’ve noticed,” he says suggestively, his eyes dropping to sweep appreciatively over her posterior. “Like, the kind of ass that doesn’t come by accident, you know?”

Felicity does know. She works hard for that ass, is happy for her work to get noticed by the men she sleeps with, but this revelation leaves her speechless.

“So I figured you must work out specially,” Ray continues, oblivious to her discomfort. “So I asked my friend Deeks - you know him as Peter Dexter, he’s in our Advanced Cyber Security class - to look into the class registration logs at the Wellness Center, ‘cause he works there. And, well, he found out you regularly go to that class, and he told me.”

“Felicity.” Oliver’s strained voice interrupts Felicity’s gape-mouthed staring at Ray. “Can I talk to you for a minute?”

She shoots him a look of warning, but his eyes only narrow, nostrils flaring. “Not now, Oliver.”

In two steps he’s at her side, his muscled body blocking her from Ray’s sight. “Red flags, Felicity.”

She meets his eyes, glaring at his predictable intrusion. “They’re not that red. Pink, maybe.”

“Felicity!” In contrast to his exasperated voice, the hands that encircle her wrists are gentle. 

“God, it’s just sex, Oliver! Why do you care who I fuck?”

“Oh,” says Ray, finally catching on.

Ignoring him, Oliver continues, “I _don’t_ care who you fuck. You _know_ I don’t care. I’m happy for you to fuck every single nerd at your school, Felicity, as long as you’re safe.”

“You’re overreacting.”

“Um, hey,” Ray interjects, “you guys want me to just, I can go wait in the hallway or something.”

“Would you mind?” Oliver grits while Felicity says, “Of course not!”

Oliver clenches his jaw and rolls his eyes. So does Felicity.

Wordlessly, Ray slips out the front door. 

When he hears the latch close, Oliver steps closer, putting one hand on her shoulder. “I just don’t want you getting hurt.”

“He’s not a bad guy.” She shrugs him off, but his hand only moves to hold her chin instead.

“We don’t know that for sure. Remember that lacrosse player?”

“Ray is different,” she insists.

“Why? Because he’s good in bed?”

“I never said _that,”_ she murmurs, dropping her gaze.

Oliver’s eyebrow shoots up, questioning eyes chasing hers before he lets it go. “Whatever. He’s exhibiting some alarming behaviors and you know it, Felicity. Come on, you’re the smartest person I know. You’ve gotta see it.”

“Oliver, thank you, but you’re blowing this out of proportion. You’re right. I am smart. And I do have experience with stalkers. And I’m telling you, Ray’s harmless.”

Oliver sighs, his shoulders slumping at their impasse. He hates it when they don’t see eye to eye. They may not always agree, but they are excellent communicators. They almost always manage to find middle ground, but he refuses to give in on this. He will not compromise when it comes to her safety.

“How about this?” Felicity says in a softer tone, her hands landing on his shoulders. “I’ll set up some boundaries with Ray. I agree that the crossfit thing is going a bit too far, but I think he just doesn’t have a great sense of social cues. So I’ll make it clear the only times we’ll see each other will be during class and right after, and at other times that we _both_ agree to. And if he can’t handle that, then I’ll end things with him.”

Oliver stares at her, considering. “And he knows it’s just sex, right? You’ve been clear on that? Because he’s very clingy, Felicity.”

Felicity smiles indulgently. “It’s because we’re friends too, you know. But yes, he’s aware. We’re friends that have sex, and that’s it.”

Oliver refuses to be mollified by her show of dimples, because this is serious. “The times you agree to see him, I want to know when and where.”

She rolls her eyes, but doesn’t bother to hide the tiny genuine smile tugging at her lips. “Fine.” With mischief sparking in her eyes, she adds, “I really only need to see him here, anyway. We can even make sure you’re always here every time he comes.”

Oliver makes a face of disgust. “There are some things I really don’t need to know, Felicity.”

“What? Don’t tell me you’re becoming a prude now? You’ve heard me having sex countless times. And vice versa. Hell, I’m pretty sure I have your moves memorized just by the types of sounds I hear coming out of that bedroom.”

He glares down menacingly into her space, but she only lifts her chin and eyebrows in challenge, slowly wetting her bottom lip with her tongue. Her heart flips in triumph when his gaze drops to her mouth. Eventually, his eyes drag back to hers, seemingly unaware of their detour. “I’m not a prude,” he says a touch defensively. “It’s just... _Ray.”_

A sly smile lights her face, because she’s won this round of whatever this game is. “What? It’s perfect. We both get what we want. I get generous, satisfying oral sex all night long, and you get the peace of mind that your best friend-slash-roommate isn’t going to get murdered by a stalkery psychopath. Win-win.”

After a charged moment, Oliver grins in that devastatingly artless way of his and leans down to kiss her cheek. “Okay Felicity. You win.”

Felicity flashes him a bright smile over her shoulder as she goes to call Ray back inside. “No, Oliver. We _both_ do.”


	2. The Dick Pic

“A dick pic!?” her offended voice echoes through the common room. “A fucking dick pic? Oliver! My best friend of over ten years! I can’t believe you sent me a dick pic!”

Oliver’s voice says nothing in reply because his mouth is too busy screaming in silent horror.

“On the other hand,” the voice turns pensive as it draws nearer, “I kind of can’t believe it’s taken ten years for you to send me a dick pick.” Felicity pauses in the threshold of her bedroom door, regarding Oliver from across the room. “Is it weird that I’m a little insulted?”

He flounders wordlessly under her smirking gaze. Finally he stutters, “I - didn’t - mean -”

“Oh, I know you didn’t _mean,”_ she says sweetly, gliding toward him on delighted feet. “But you _did.”_ She holds her phone out toward him, presenting the evidence.

He did. Oh, he most definitely did.

She turns the phone around again, tongue protruding her from lips as she inspects the image critically.

His heartbeat speeds up, stomach twisting strangely as he watches the speculative expression on her face. “Stop looking at it.”

“Why?”

His eyes widen in disbelief when she finally drags her gaze up to meet his. _“Why?_ Felicity, because - it’s my dick!”

“Yessss,” she drawls, “but it’s _my_ picture.”

“Of _my dick,”_ he points out. 

“You sent it to me,” she replies, lips quirking with barely suppressed glee.

“By mistake!” he shouts, stepping into her space because she’s frustrating and adorable and she just needs to _stop._

“That’s not my fault,” she grins up at him, not backing down in the least, not that he expects her to.

“Felicity!” he groans, trying to hang onto his irritation despite the fact that he knows it’s a losing battle. 

She peers up at him innocently through dark lashes.

He takes a calming breath and reaches out to pet her hair, because he knows from years of experience that intimidation doesn’t work on her. “Please stop looking at my dick.” 

She hums and closes her eyes, an indulgent smile playing over her lips as she leans into his hand, enjoying his affectionate touch. 

He almost thinks he has her agreement, but then her eyes pop open and drop to his pants, a mischievous expression taking over her face as she drags her eyes up to meet his gaze. “I don’t understand why you care so much, Oliver.” She arches her eyebrow suggestively. “It’s a nice dick.” 

A familiar current sparks between them as he holds her gaze, but he only reaches out slowly to take her phone. At the last second, she realizes what he’s doing and tries to move away but he grabs the arm that’s holding the phone and uses it to pull her into his chest, using the other hand to pry the phone out of her hand, a satisfied smile overtaking his face as she tries to squirm away. 

“Let go, Oliver!” she whines, half laughing as she struggles and tries to glare at him. “You can’t have my phone.”

“I don’t want your phone, Felicity. I just want to delete the picture.” 

“Well too bad it's not yours to delete!”

He succeeds in wrestling the phone from her, holding it above her head as she reaches for it, shaking his head with a slow, triumphant smirk.

“Come on, Oliver. Why do you even care? It’s not like you’re soooo private and careful about who sees your junk.” Her words come out in bursts as she jumps for the phone, fingers wiggling in the air and breasts colliding against his chest with each attempt. “You’re the one who sends images of your cock and balls out into the unsecured datasphere to basically anyone with a vagina. So I don’t understand what the big deal is!”

He lifts an exasperated eyebrow. “The big deal is that it’s _you_ looking at my junk. It’s different.”

She stops her futile attempt at trying to reach for her phone, tilting her head and letting her arms come to rest around his neck. “Why am I different?”

“Because you just are,” he says in a weak attempt to put an end to a dangerous subject. 

Her eyes narrow in challenge, sending a little thrill of anticipation through him. “So ‘Debate Class Girl’ gets to see your dick, but not me, your best friend since elementary school?”

He gazes down at her, a tolerant smile on his face. “‘Debate Class Girl?’”

“Oh, you know.” 

“I really don’t.”

She rolls her eyes, fingers twisting idly into the short hairs at the base of his neck. “The assignment was to take a position and argue it, and she chose _'girl on top.'_ "

Oliver guffaws as the memory lands, his grin turning dirty as he pretends to dwell on memories of the girl in question. “Oh yeah. Her.”

“Yeah. _Her.”_

“I mean it’s not like she was _wrong.”_

Felicity smacks his chest. _“So_ not the point.”

He brings the phone down from above his head, placing it behind his back while his other arm wraps around her waist, pulling her closer. He nuzzles into her hair affectionately. “And what was your point, again?”

Refusing to be charmed, she doesn’t lean into his body. “That the random girl from last week who _you’ve_ already completely forgotten is worthy of seeing your penis, but I’m not.”

“I haven’t forgotten her,” he muses, fingers combing through the ends of Felicity’s hair. “In fact, I might call her again.”

Felicity smacks his chest again, shaking her head at his antics, but she doesn’t pull away.

Oliver takes a deep breath, leaning slightly away from her as he changes tactics. “Here you go, Felicity,” he drawls, presenting her phone on the palm of his hand and watching as she eyes him suspiciously. When she carefully takes it from him, he lets the other shoe drop. “But you know, if you wanted to see my cock so badly, you could have just asked.” 

Her mouth drops open in predictable outrage, and to his amusement she holds the phone away from her body, dangling it like a dead rat. “That wasn’t my point and you know it, asshole. I will be deleting the photo, thank you very much.”

“No, please,” he smirks, pressing because now he has her right where he wants her. “Keep it. Consider it my gift to you.”

“A _gift!_ Wow. How generous. You certainly have a high opinion of yourself, mister.”

“Don't you think I have a reason to?” He quirks his eyebrow in challenge, leaning into her space, enjoying her discomfort. “Come on, you’ve seen it now.” 

She just glares at him for a long moment before turning her attention back to her phone, making a show of preparing to delete the image. 

Oliver watches her in silent amusement until she's almost about to do it, and then a dangerous impulse takes over and the words just rush out of him. “Are you sure you want to do that, Felicity?” 

He watches her with dark eyes as her finger pauses, hovering over the trashcan icon. “Yes…” she replies, but it comes out like a question as her eyes flick to his, wary of his intentions.

He nibbles his lower lip consideringly, then slowly reaches out to grab her wrist, pulling the hand with the phone toward him. “You’re sure?”

“Why would I want to keep it?” she asks, maintaining his loaded gaze and not attempting to get out of his hold. 

He blinks. Matching her carefully neutral tone, he replies, “Well, it’s not as if you haven’t already seen it.”

“True,” she concedes, eyes dark with dawning understanding.

“And this way, you have blackmail material in case you ever need it.”

“I do like leverage,” she agrees, licking her lips as his eyes drop to follow the motion. 

“So maybe you shouldn’t delete it just yet.” He lifts his brows significantly, then gently lets go of her wrist. 

A tiny smile pulls at her lips. “Maybe not.” Never taking her eyes off him, she shuts off the screen and pockets the phone. 

“Okay then.”

“Okay.” Their eyes hold for a long moment of unspoken awareness.

“But Felicity?” he calls as she starts to turn away.

“Hmm?” She turns back, stepping toward him. 

“If you have leverage on me, it’s only fair that I get some on you too, right?” 

She makes a show of considering his logic, and his cock twitches at the slow, wicked smile that lights her face. “That only seems fair.”

* * *

Twenty minutes later, Oliver’s phone buzzes in his pocket. He’s lounging in his bedroom, chemistry textbook open to a random page on the unmade bed. 

He came in here to “study,” but mostly he’s been too horny to concentrate, so he’s been exchanging texts with Tiffany - that’s her name, the girl from his debate class - while idly touching his dick and _not_ thinking about Felicity.

 _Not_ thinking about how much he liked the fact that she’d seen a picture of his erect penis, and wasn’t disgusted by it.

 _Not_ thinking about how much she’d enjoyed teasing him about it.

And _definitely_ not thinking about how much he’d enjoyed teasing her back.

Because no. He _can’t_ . It’s _Felicity._

It’s not that they haven’t always had a connection, because they have. She’s the first person he wants to talk to when something’s bothering him, the only person he trusts with things that he can’t share with anyone else. It’s been that way for _years._

And it’s not like he’s never noticed how attractive she is. On the contrary, he’s seen countless boys, and then men, sniffing around her. Even back in her more awkward years, there was always something about her, an irresistible, remarkable brilliance, that attracted people. He’s been warning off unworthy men for longer that she probably even realizes, and he’s always enjoyed occupying that place in her life. As her confidante and protector, the one man she trusts above all others. 

Those things have always been there, the closeness, the affection, and yes, a degree of mutual attraction, of course. How could it not be? That attraction has always been a facet of their friendship, an underlying tension that lends an edge of excitement to all their interactions - they flirt, and touch, and tease - because it’s just their way. They flirt like friends. Touch, and tease, like friends. 

It’s just that lately, ever since he failed out of Princeton and decided to try his luck at Harvard and they started living together, it’s felt like a lot more. The last time they spent this much time together, they were still in high school. He was in a “relationship” with Laurel, and she was dating Barry, and things were just different.

But now…

 _No._

His phone buzzes again, and he pulls it out of his pocket, hoping it’s Tiffany blowing up his phone with enthusiastic offers to distract him from these wandering, unwanted thoughts. 

**Debate Class Girl** : _So Valerie said she can cover me tonight, if you wanted me to come over…_

His thumbs hover over the keypad, intending to text _yes._ It’s a no-brainer, really. But there is only the one message from her, which means…

He’s backing out of her message before he responds, because his phone buzzed twice, and dammit he _has to know._

When he sees it, he drops his phone. His eyes nearly bug out of his head, and his erection goes from _Not tonight, honey I have a headache_ to _WHERE’S THE FUCKING PARTY_ in 2 seconds flat. 

Because _Felicity._

He draws his hands over his mouth, eyes never leaving the tantalizing image she’s sent him. 

He can’t see her face, but it’s her. Even if it weren’t the perfect female equivalent to his inaverdent dick pic, he would know.

Taken from between her spread legs, the angle is perfect, _she_ is perfect, and naked, and definitely aroused. It’s as if he’s there, head between her thighs, right where he…

_...right where he’s pictured himself, more times than he’d like to admit._

Goddammit. And the worst part is, he asked for it. 

But he didn’t think she’d really...not _really._ It’s just what they do, flirting and challenging each other, raising the stakes in a never ending game to one-up the other. Usually, they change the game before it goes this far. 

It’s definitely never, ever gone this far.

He runs anxious hands through his hair, eyes never leaving the photo, all thought of Debate Class Girl completely erased from his brain as he grasps blindly for threads of reason in a mind that’s fogged with lust.

Is he supposed to do something? Is this an invitation? And if it is, should he take her up on it? Isn’t that basically trampling on a thousand unspoken boundaries that they’ve carefully maintained for over a decade of friendship? There’s a reason they haven’t crossed that line, isn’t there?

He’s almost certain there is. Or was.

He paces in confused, aroused turmoil for several long minutes until one thought rises above the clamor in his brain.

It’s _Felicity._ When he’s confused, she’s the one person he can always talk to, and he can’t let this be an exception. 

Still sporting an impressive erection, he tucks his phone into his pocket and makes his way to her room, intending to face whatever this is head on. 

When he gets to her door, he pauses, determination faltering because there are loud, unmistakable sounds of sex coming from her room that he only ever hears when she has a guest. But it’s only been, what, less than half an hour since he left her, and he didn’t hear anyone come into the apartment.

His dick tightens in his pants as she moans, his mind instantly flashing to the image that’s already burned into his consciousness for eternity. For the first time in his life, he has a vivid understanding of what it means that she’s in there, alone, touching herself.

 _Correction:_ she’s in there, alone, touching herself, _just five minutes after sending him a naked, aroused picture of herself._

Oliver’s legs give way as the implications of that hit him, and he ends up sliding down the wall so that he’s seated just outside her door. 

Where he can’t help but hear her loud, unselfconscious, enthusiastic sounds of pleasure as she gets herself off. 

Unconsciously, his fingers fly to his zipper, releasing his cock from his way-past-tight jeans. It’s not until the heaven of his fingers close around his aching shaft that he even realizes what he’s doing, but oh god it feels amazing and one thought above all is leading the charge and it’s that he knows...

_...he knows…_

...she’s thinking about him too.

Guided by that single thought, he lets go of all his reservations, surrendering to the needs of his aching cock. 

He closes his eyes, letting his palm slip languidly up and down his shaft, thumb gliding over his tip as he listens to the noises coming from her room, letting his focus zero in so that there’s nothing left but her moans and his pleasure.

He unconsciously adjusts the flick of his wrist to match the sounds of her voice, adapting the pace of his gratification to keep time with hers. 

He thrusts into his fist, suspended in pleasure for long minutes, mind empty of everything except a steady hum of satisfaction building towards ecstasy, and _her._

He can hear her: her soft sighs and moans as well as the rustle of her long legs on her sheets, and he can picture her too. And not just the erotic image of her sex spread in front of him, though that picture definitely features prominently, but also just _her._ The way her nose crinkles when she laughs, the way her eyes squeeze shut when she thinks she’s said something embarrassing, the bright dimples that make frequent appearances in all his best memories.

He is definitely fucked.

He groans silently, panting with the effort of holding himself back as his fist squeezes his dick, wrestling his writhing hips. Her gasping moans are steadily giving way to urgent wailing and he’s there with her, neck and neck with her impending orgasm until a note in her voice signals that she’s going to come. His body tightens in response, hand stroking furiously to keep up with his impending release, and when she finally reaches her climax, he’s ready. 

Her shout of orgasm triggers his own release, fingers squeezing and milking his dick as he spills load after load of hot, thick semen into his own lap, on his shirt, over his hand, and onto his jeans. 

He sits for several long moments in post-orgasmic euphoria, letting his heartbeat slow, ears still ringing with the sounds of her climax until he opens his eyes to find himself sitting next to his best friend’s door, semi-erect dick still pulsing in his hand, covered in a bigger mess than he’s made since the 9th grade.

From inside her room, there is nothing but silence.

All at once he feels an overwhelming surge of shame, and he instantly knows she can’t find him out here like this, covered in his own come like some teenager who can’t keep his dick in his pants. 

Quickly and quietly he picks himself off the floor and darts back to his room. When he sees her hours later, he’s showered and somewhat recovered and neither of them bring up the picture again.

But, because it’s them, she asks him if he wants to watch a movie after dinner and of course he says yes. 

She falls asleep with her head in his lap while he strokes his fingers through her hair, her _goddamn orange blossom-scented hair,_ and he ignores the tender ache that awakens in his heart and instead carries her to bed and tucks her in like he does almost every night. 

And if he leans down and presses his lips to her forehead in a lingering kiss, he doesn’t mention it later.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Y'all I am having _so much fun_ with this little series!! I hope I made you laugh and/or feel all the things!
> 
> Please let me know in the comments!! (Like, pleeeeeease!!)
> 
> This series is a stylistic departure for me, and I need validation! lol
> 
> Also I'm on twitter now, that's new: twitter.com/allimarie_xf (<\-- too lazy to make that a hyperlink at the moment, but you know how it works ;)


	3. The Best Medicine

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As usual, HUGE thanks to Steph for the beta!! MWAHS!

A loud groan greets Oliver as he keys into the apartment.

“Felicity?”

“Yeah,” she moans from the vicinity of the living room.

“Are you okay?”

He strides toward her, taking in the two empty pints of ice cream lying haphazardly on the coffee next to where she’s sprawled out on the couch. The Real Housewives of someplace or other are engaged in a heated argument on the TV.

Felicity blinks slowly back at Oliver, letting her surroundings answer the question for her.

He drops to his knees next to her, ignoring the willowy brunette who trails him more slowly into the room. “Okay, stupid question. What’s wrong?”

“Just the usual,” she says leadingly, meeting his gaze.

One of Oliver’s hands moves to her face, knuckles brushing along her cheek before he tucks a loose lock of hair behind her ear. Taking the bait, he asks, “The usual?” 

She waits a beat, her lips curving in a satisfied smile. “Men are scum.”

Oliver narrows his eyes in mock indignation.

“Present company excluded, of course,” she says with a teasing lift to her eyebrow.

“Oh, of course” he says, grinning despite his attempt to appear stern. 

Felicity grins back, some of her general irritation receding the way it always does when Oliver shows up. But then another stab of cramps grip her, and she groans again.

Oliver sweeps his gaze appraisingly over her before leaning down so his eyes are on level with hers. “So what happened? Some jerk stand you up?”

“Meh.”

The corner of his eyes crinkle with humor. “You must have had high expectations for this one. It’s not often you party it up with Ben and Jerry.”

She sticks her tongue out at him half-heartedly. “As if I would be lying here sentencing myself to extra time on the elliptical over Douchesack Noodle Dick. No way. I’m lying here in misery because it feels like the cast of Chicago is currently tap dancing inside my uterus.” 

Oliver scrunches his face in sympathy. “Can I get you anything?”

“A new uterus?”

Instead of responding, he watches her face with a soft expression, running a finger down the slope of her nose and then tapping the end of it, a satisfied little smile on his face.

Felicity blinks. “Did you just boop my nose?” She narrows her eyes at him, but the effect is undone by the dimples she can’t quite suppress. 

“Maybe.” 

“You did, you booped my nose.”

Oliver shrugs noncommittally, trying to hide his own grin.

“Oliver?” The nasal interruption jolts them both. It contains a distinct whine, and Oliver sits abruptly back on his heels and turns to face the woman hovering at the far end of the couch.

“Isabel,” he says, a little stupidly. He pulls his hands back from where they’d automatically landed on Felicity’s, suddenly remembering his date. “Hey Isabel, you mind giving me a moment?”

After a brief, barely-detectable pause, a mask of pleasantness falls over the woman’s face. “Sure. I’ll get us some wine?”

Felicity can hear the reprimand behind the woman’s seeming geniality, but Oliver’s attention is already returning to her. “Sure,” he agrees carelessly.

Felicity experiences a little surge of triumph, which is wrong - very wrong - but she can’t help it. As much as she and Oliver both enjoy the company of other people, their bond has always been special - different, deeper, and it never fails to give her a thrill when she’s reminded that the connection goes both ways.

Oliver smooths his index finger over the space between her eyebrows, unconsciously mirroring her furrowed expression as he opens his mouth to speak -

“White or red?” Isabel - who apparently has not left - demands to know.

Oliver jerks in surprise, shifting his eyes toward the threshold and the woman who lingers there, dressed for the club that they must have recently slipped away from. “Hmm?”

“White or red wine, Oliver?” she repeats, the edge of irritation now unmistakable. 

Forcing his lips into a smile, Oliver turns his head toward her, replying with acute politeness. “You decide.”

She holds his gaze for entirely too long before rolling her eyes and finally disappearing so that Oliver can focus back on Felicity, who is silently watching the entire exchange.

“Sorry,” Oliver says, when it’s clear Isabel has really gone. 

“Sorry for what?” she asks lightly. It’s not as if he owes her anything. Despite how much she enjoys his attention, she has no right to expect it. Part of what makes their friendship so easy is that lack of expectations, their ability to give each other space without worrying that they mean any less to each other.

He opens his mouth, but doesn’t seem to have a good explanation for his apology. 

Helping him out, she says, “You should go be with her. I’m fine here.”

Oliver frowns, and she experiences another unexpected surge of pleasure at his apparent reluctance to leave. _Bad Felicity. Let him go._

She watches his Adam’s apple bob as he swallows, still hesitating. “Can I get you anything? Pain relievers? More ice cream? Tampons?”

Felicity’s breath catches and she ducks her head to hide her sudden blush. 

It isn’t as if they don’t share TMI details about each other’s lives all the time, sexually speaking. Or even as far as relationships are concerned; they have been each other’s confidante and partner in crime through countless embarrassing scenarios in high school alone.

He’d held her hair and rubbed her back the first time she’d gotten drunk on cheap beer, and vice versa countless times thereafter. 

She’d been his alibi the first time he snuck out of the house to attend a senior party; later, she’d attended them with him.

He’d been the one to find her crying in the gym when she’d caught her 8th grade boyfriend kissing Helena Bertinelli.

Hell, he’d picked up tampons for her on more than one occasion over the years - along with every other imaginable personal item, from condoms to Plan B to Monistat.

But somehow, this feels different. The timing, the situation, the way his concerned blue eyes are focused so intently on her face, makes everything feel more _significant._

Which is a dangerous line of thinking. Pushing the swooping sensation aside, she scrunches her nose instead, smacking his thigh to lighten the mood. _“Oliver!”_

“What?” he asks, his intensity lessening as he smirks at her. “I don’t mind. I can be that guy.”

She lets out a long groan, continuing to idly smack his thigh, rolling her eyes before sighing, “I know.”

“I’m also the guy who noticed that dress you’re wearing is your Good Luck First Date dress,” he says in a disarmingly soft voice, quirked eyebrow letting her know she hadn’t fooled him with her earlier cavalier attitude.

The words catch her off guard, and she internally curses Oliver’s insightfulness. As much as she appreciates his abiding concern for her, she wishes it weren’t also characterized by such an impressive attention to detail. 

Biting her lip and deciding to just admit to the fact that Cooper’d managed to hurt her feelings - something she rarely gives any man power to do - she sighs and meets his clear blue eyes. 

But before she can say anything, Isabel reappears, clearing her throat pointedly. The corners of her lips tighten into a pinched smile when her gaze settles on Oliver. “Me and that bottle of Chateau Petrus Pomerol are waiting for you, Oliver,” she purrs in a saccharine tone. 

Felicity sees Oliver grind his teeth before he looks back at her, a thoughtful look on his face.

“Go,” she urges, releasing him from any obligation he might feel toward her before he can speak.

Instead of taking her up on the offer, he shakes his head. “I’m not going to leave you if you’re in pain.” 

His steady gaze makes it clear he means more than just physical pain, which is touching, but Felicity is overly aware of Isabel’s glamorous presence. “It’s just cramps. Go!” 

Oliver’s jaw sets. “We weren’t done talking about the douchebag - what was his name again?” he persists.

Felicity fixes him with an exasperated look, flicking her eyes meaningfully toward Isabel, because no way is she getting into this right now, with that perfect leggy model-type person witness to her humiliation. It’s mortifying enough she’s clearly going to have to explain what happened to Oliver.

Which should not bother her. Correction, it does not bother her. There.

A look of decision settles on Oliver’s face, and he turns toward Isabel, the set of his muscular shoulders apologetic but firm. “I’m sorry, Isabel, but something’s come up.” 

Her jaw drops, cracking the serene perfection of her face. “Excuse me?”

She takes a breath to argue, but Oliver stands smoothly and uses his size to herd her toward the door, stopping to pick up her discarded heels and hand them to her. “I’m really sorry,” he repeats, not sounding very sorry at all, when she interrupts -

“You think you can just bring me home and then kick me out? That's not how this works, Oliver. I had my choice of plans this evening and I chose you. If you think I’m ever going to -” Her voice abruptly cuts off as Oliver closes the door in her face. 

Oliver locks the door and leans back against it, sighing. When he opens his eyes, his gaze finds Felicity’s across the room.

Felicity stares back at him, heartbeat kicking up at the resolve she can see in his face. After a prolonged moment, Oliver moves to the kitchen, and when he returns to her side a minute later, he’s equipped with ibuprofen and a glass of water.

Despite feeling a little guilty, she can’t help the gratified flutter in her heart that he kicked Isabel out, choosing her distress over his own plans. And her stomach definitely swoops at the focused sincerity in his eyes as he approaches her.

Felicity sits up to take the offered pills as he pauses to mute the television, then she lies back down on her side, leaving space for Oliver. When he’s seated within the curve of her body, he turns to face her, one hand automatically settling in the dip of her waist. 

“Tell me about Douchebag Pencil Dick,” he says in a low, rumbly tone as his thumb unconsciously soothes over her hip.

Felicity closes her eyes, resigned to his interrogation. “It’s Douchesack Noodle Dick,” she corrects.

“Oh, a thousand apologies, Miss Smoak.”

She smiles slightly in response to his teasing tone without opening her eyes. “It’s Cooper,” she explains.

“Ugh.” This is not the first time Felicity’s crush object has come up.

“I’m inclined to agree with you there.”

Oliver huffs, but he doesn’t sound too pleased to have been right in this case.

“And I guess it’s no secret that I was kinda hoping this would turn into maybe more than a casual thing...but I guess he didn’t share those hopes.”

Oliver waits, his free hand stroking comfortingly through her hair.

“And then when I told him I was on my period, he just got this really disgusted look on his face,” she pauses to roll her eyes, “and he said, ‘Gee Felicity, you could have warned me that I wasn’t going to get laid tonight.’” 

Oliver says nothing for a moment, and Felicity reaches up to soothe his ticking jaw with her fingertips. 

His eyes shift to sweep over her outfit, her “Good Luck First Date Dress,” as he so annoyingly and accurately noted, and she knows exactly what he’s thinking.

“I’m gonna kick his ass,” he growls, confirming Felicity’s suspicions. 

Oliver’s fingers have tightened noticeably on her hip, so she glances up to intercept his glare. “It’s fine.”

“That’s not fine, Felicity. That’s unacceptable.”

“Yeah, well. Welcome to Dating Douchebags 101. It’s really not a big deal.”

Oliver shakes his head, nostrils flared and lips pressed together angrily.

“Oliver, I’m serious, it was nothing. No need for you to go all caveman.”

“Caveman? That’s not very scientific.” His eyes are still too serious and concerned, and that needs to stop right now.

“Well given that stubborn look on your face, I figured it’s better to speak slowly and use small words.”

There it is, that familiar spark of humor, the reaction in his eyes she was looking for. She hopes it’s enough to make him drop the subject. 

“Nice try,” he murmurs, a knowing smile on his lips. 

She shrugs, matching his smile. Some of the tension has been dispelled, and she unconsciously snuggles into him, wrapping her body around his.

After several moments of comfortable silence, he murmurs, “You deserve better than that asshole, Felicity.”

Felicity doesn’t respond immediately, and Oliver’s fingers continue to travel soothingly along the length of her body. 

“You know that, right?” he presses.

“I do,” she acknowledges quietly. 

He seems to settle after that, relaxing into the companionable silence, and the way his fingers are stroking over her feels so good, so comforting, that a low moan escapes Felicity. “That feels really good,” she explains, her voice coming out lower than intended.

Instead of responding in words, Oliver starts to knead her more deliberately. 

“Mmmmmm.” She wiggles around so he has better access to her back.

“You want me to rub your back?” Oliver’s voice is rough, and he clears his throat.

“Mmhmm,” she hums. His hands are large and warm and very strong. Basically, they feel like perfectly engineered instruments of pleasure. Which is a phrase she needs to remember to never, ever say out loud. “I would pay you a million dollars just to continue exactly what you’re doing right now.”

She hears Oliver chuckle behind her as his hands move to her shoulders, kneading the tense muscles there. “You don’t have a million dollars.”

“Hmm, good point, but you do.” She waits a beat. “Hey Oliver, can I borrow a million dollars?”

His soft bark of laughter is affectionate and she smiles into the cushion. She feels him shifting on the couch, and then his voice is close to her ear, whispering, “You can have anything you want, Felicity.”

His breath tickles against her neck, but it’s his words that send a shiver down her spine. It would be entirely too easy to let this feel like more than it is. She desperately tries to steer the conversation back on track. “How about we just forget the whole monetary exchange thing then and you can just give me a backrub instead, hmm?”

“Deal,” he agrees after a beat. 

His fingers continue to knead warmly over her shoulders and against her neck, and it feels _amazing,_ almost perfect, except - “I don’t have cramps in my shoulders, Oliver.” 

Oliver’s fingers still against her bare shoulders, exposed by her strapless dress. “What?”

She wiggles her hips in demonstration. “The shoulder rub feels good, but if you could rub my lower back, I’d love you forever,” she promises in a singsong voice. 

Immediately, his hands drag down her body and come to a rest just above her ass. “Like this?” he asks, his voice somehow sounding an octave lower than normal. 

Felicity lets out a loud, involuntary groan. Which is mildly embarrassing, but his hands start kneading in just the right spot and it feels like _heaven_ and for the life of her she can’t remember why she should feel embarrassed. 

“Oh god,” she moans. It should not be possible for anything to feel this good. His hands press into her skin, completely replacing the dull ache with pleasant heat, and a blanketing sense of well-being. 

And that’s not all, she realizes. As his hands skim dangerously close to her sensitive ass, she feels a stir of arousal originating from his touch. Electric surges of pleasure radiate along her inner thighs, over her ass, and collect between her legs.

And as he continues his kneading, it’s becoming more and more of a problem.

Oliver is silent as his powerful hands work over her, and Felicity squirms under his ministrations, floating on the luxurious sensation for who knows how long until suddenly, he stops.

Felicity moans a protest at the unexpected loss, but before she can ask, Oliver’s fingers are at the zipper at the back of her dress. “Your dress is making this difficult, do you mind if I unzip it?”

Mind? She should probably mind. Maybe it’s only in her head, but somehow his offer feels dangerous. The boundary between platonic and _something more_ has always been a bit blurred between them, but they've been careful to maintain it nevertheless. 

Until lately, that is. She still isn’t quite sure what came over her when she sent him that picture of herself, naked and aroused. She should consider herself lucky that that momentary lapse in sanity went completely uncommented on by Oliver; lucky that despite the distinct tension that arose out of their confrontation over the dick pic, their friendship had settled easily back into its usual affectionate, easy rhythm. Though if she’s really being honest, she was a little disappointed at Oliver’s complete and utter lack of reaction. He’s never mentioned it once, and it’s been over a week now.

So does she mind if Oliver unzips her dress, lets his fingers press into the bare skin just above her ass, knowingly and deliberately erasing another of their invisible boundaries? The intimacy of the moment makes it easy to admit that she definitely _doesn’t_ mind; in fact, she craves it. 

Besides, whether he acknowledges it or not, he definitely saw the picture he sent her. If their friendship can carry on as usual after they both know that she’s seen his dick and he’s seen her pussy, what difference does it make if he sees her in her panties?

Oliver’s hands are hesitating at the top of her dress, and she once again wiggles her bottom to communicate her consent. “Do it,” she adds, in case he needs further encouragement.

She hears him take a shuddering breath, and the realization that he might be similarly affected makes her stomach do a little swoop. Oh well, too late now.

Oliver draws the zipper down slowly, careful of the delicate fabric, and Felicity lifts her hips automatically when he reaches her lower back. He hesitates at the unspoken invitation.

To be honest, she hadn’t really thought it through, but it’s clear to her now that the dress has to come off. “Oliver, it’s gonna be in the way if we leave it on. Even more in the way than if you’d left it zipped.” 

There’s no answer from behind her, but she knows Oliver has seen the logic of her words when his fingers slip under the fabric and pull the dress down her legs in one smooth motion.

“Finally,” Felicity mutters as she drops her hips back on the couch, mainly to break the tension that seems like it has the potential to become awkward. “I already did my yoga for the day,” she jokes, to soften the words.

It does the trick, because she hears Oliver chuckle, and then suddenly his hands are on her ankles, and wow...that feels nicer than it has a right to. She’s thinking of adding a leg massage to her list of requests but then his fingers go to the buckles of her strappy 3 inch heels, and _oh._

He holds her feet with steady hands as he slowly and deliberately works the buckles at her ankles. Then, one after the other, he slides the shoes off her feet until she’s left wearing nothing but her matching bra and panties. And somehow, as innocent as the action should have felt, it feels undeniably erotic. 

Before that thought can settle and potentially freak her out, she feels Oliver shifting and standing up, followed immediately by the sound of his fly being undone. She turns her head toward him in time to see him toeing off his shoes and sliding his designer jeans down his legs, leaving him in an open-collared button-down and a pair of boxers.

“What -?”

Instead of answering, he settles back onto the couch, straddling her thighs so that he’s perfectly positioned to resume his massage.

“Oh.”

Oliver hums in response, and the bassy rumble resonates directly between her legs. Oh god.

Felicity takes a deep breath, anticipating Oliver’s hands landing on the bare skin of her back at any moment, but he surprises her by grasping her thighs instead, wrapping one warm hand around each muscle, and she groans shamelessly at the sensation.

“Good?”

She shivers at his rough, sexy tone. She’s heard it before, of course, but never directed at her. “Very good,” she manages.

“I remember that you said your legs and thighs get sore when you have cramps.” Somehow when he says it, it sounds sweet and not creepy. Of course, his thumbs - doing _that thing_ to her inner thighs, spreading her legs wider, working their way up - help a lot. _A lot._

“Yeah,” she gasps. 

Just when she thinks there’s nowhere else for his hands to go, that he will inevitably discover her drenched panties at any moment, his hands divert from their course, skimming instead along the outside of her hips, back to their original place on her lower back.

He starts kneading there, but somehow it’s not quite as satisfying as it was the first time. Without meaning to, Felicity lets out a little whine.

Behind her, Oliver chuckles. “Something wrong, Felicity?”

And _ohhhhhh_ she recognizes that low, sly rumble. He knows exactly what he’s doing. Smug bastard.

She refuses to give him the satisfaction of knowing how affected she is. Instead, she wiggles into the cushions, “accidentally” pressing her ass further in the air so that it brushes against his palms. “No, just getting more comfortable,” she responds innocently. 

A tiny smile lights her face at his answering groan. Especially when he resumes his massage, only now more roughly, and way less careful of the invisible boundary between her lower back and her ass.

After a minute of torturous near misses, Oliver’s hands begin to drift lower. And _oh sweet motherboard._ She can’t stop the shiver that whispers up her spine as his large hands close over her firm ass cheeks and squeeze, nor can she stop the long, low groan that escapes her. 

“Does that feel good?” he asks lowly, as if afraid to disturb whatever strange - and extremely pleasant - bubble that surrounds them. 

“Mmmhmm,” she answers in the same manner, pressing up into his palms in case he didn’t get the full message about just how much she’s enjoying herself.

“Good,” he replies, his voice a little strained. After that he abandons all hesitation. He kneads her with strong, sure fingers that dig deliciously into her firm gluteal muscles, and his large hands fit her perfectly, fulfilling a primal satisfaction when he cups and squeezes each round globe. 

And slowly, surely, his thumbs make their way back toward her dripping center. 

Felicity is so turned on she’s halfway out of her mind, unable to care about anything but the feeling of his hands working over her ass, his heated body straddling her thighs. It’s all she can do to stop from grinding against the couch, wanting - needing - to relieve the pressure of her throbbing clit. 

When he suddenly drapes his warm chest over her back, hot breath puffing against her neck, she assumes this is some new torture he’s devised, until his lips brush over her ear, and she has a minor religious experience at his whispered words.

“You know, they say orgasms are good for cramps.”

She almost comes right then and there.

But she doesn’t, she holds on, managing to channel her excitement into a relatively dignified “Uh huh.”

She feels, more than hears, the deep rumble of satisfaction in his chest.

“Do you want to try it?” he asks with studied nonchalance, resuming his position seated on her thighs. “I know you’re in a lot of pain, and it would probably help.” Without waiting for her response, his hands resume their deep caress. 

“Um.” _Yes._ He does seem _very_ willing. And they’ve already come this far; what’s a little further? Plus, the photos. 

It won’t be weird. And she wants him - _it, not him!_ \- so, so bad. 

“Okay.”

He makes a soft sound, a little moan or whimper, but she doesn’t have time to process it because his hands are slipping between her legs, gliding over her panties, seeking her pulsing little mound. A full-body shudder overtakes her the instant his fingers brush over the prominent bundle of nerves, and _fracking hell_ she’s not going to last long. 

The fabric of her underwear provides a surprisingly delicious amount of friction as he begins to pet her clit with gentle, precise strokes. His other hand slips between her thighs, stroking along her hypersensitive skin with featherlight, erotic touches that heighten and amplify her arousal. Her body feels lush and ripe, and the only thing that’s missing is him buried deep inside her.

“Oh god, Oliver,” she murmurs, grinding a little against his hands as he slowly builds her up.

She knows she’s moaning, writhing, possibly reciting pi or giving pet names to Oliver’s index fingers, but she can’t care because Oliver Queen’s fingers are working her clit, learning her in a way that somehow feels both tender and pornographic. 

“That’s it, Felicity,” he murmurs, stroking his free hand over her hip. “Let me take care of you.”

His voice, rough and erotic, drags up her spine, introducing a whole new layer of pleasure to the experience. His ministrations are controlled and studious, but the harsh breathing behind her proves that he’s just as affected as she is, and when she takes a second to think about it, she realizes she can feel his thick erection pressing into her ass. 

Which is really, really sexy. In response, she rocks harder against his fingers, making sure to press back against his dick, and he lets out a long groan that is music to her ears. The sound immediately makes her wish she could somehow bring him to orgasm, to get him off as he’s getting her off, but unfortunately she got a major head start in this race and she’s rapidly approaching the finish line. 

Approaching, but, to her frustration, never quite reaching. Oliver leads her along, circling and pinching and teasing her clit, but never quite sending her over, and she’s completely at his mercy, chasing a release that is always just out of reach.

“Oliver, please,” she begs, and his breathy chuckle convinces her that he’s deliberately teasing her. “Stop being an asshole and let me come!”

His body shakes with silent laughter at that, but he seems to take pity on her, grasping her mound between his thumb and forefinger and rolling her with a firm, steady pressure that is an immediate game changer. 

She gasps, ripples of white heat surging through her body.

“Better?” 

His tone is unmistakably smug, but Felicity can’t formulate a snarky response because just then he presses his thumb to her throbbing bundle and that’s it, that’s endgame. She shatters against his fingers, moaning into the couch cushion as she pulses and presses into his touch, trusting him to support her lower body as she goes completely boneless in his arms. 

“Oh. Wow,” she whispers when the aftershocks subside. 

Oliver chuckles and drags his hand from between her legs, helping her carefully settle fully back down on her stomach. That was...better than she ever imagined. And boy, had she imagined.

His hands rest lightly on her lower back as she takes a moment to catch her breath. _Okay, Felicity. Don’t make it weird._

She turns her head to the side so she can look at Oliver, not quite meeting his eyes. “It’s not gonna be weird between us now, is it?” Dammit, she made it weird.

She recognizes the slightly tense expression on his face only a second before it disappears, replaced by a wide, dimpled smile as he laughs at her question - and just like that, the tension dissipates. 

“No, Felicity,” he replies, chasing her gaze until she finally meets his eyes. She can see the tentative optimism there. “Why would it be weird?”

“No, you’re right.” His eyes are so clear and so blue, gazing back at her in that way that makes her heart flop. 

And if he’s okay with it, who is she to complain? To finally have experienced an Oliver Queen orgasm, albeit in a slightly unconventional way, definitely fulfilled a longstanding fantasy. Many longstanding fantasies. And it’s not as if he doesn’t have sex with anyone with boobs and half a brain; why should this be any different just because it’s _them?_

It shouldn’t. It wouldn’t. Mind made up, she scrambles to sit up, wide smile on her face as she places a hand on Oliver’s shoulder. He watches her affectionately as she leans forward and presses a deliberate kiss to his stubbled cheek. “Thank you, Oliver. I guess it’s true what they say.”

“What do they say?” he asks, expression turning slightly puzzled.

She arches a wicked eyebrow at him. “Orgasms really are the best medicine.”

He cocks his head, a smile pulling at his lips. “I thought that was supposed to be laughter?”

She leans back, dragging her knuckles lightly over his still-prominent erection, causing him to hiss, before pinning him with a direct look. “Laughter definitely never made me come that hard.” She reaches up to pat his cheek before glancing down at his lap meaningfully. “Thanks for the medicine, Oliver. Now I recommend you go take yours.”

His mouth hangs open, eyes never leaving her as she winks and stands up, moving around the room gathering her discarded dress and shoes. Before she disappears into the hallway, she turns around one last time. He’s still just sitting there, watching her.

“Goodnight, Oliver. Sweet dreams.” And then she skips off to bed, and the satisfaction of having left Oliver speechless and staring is only made better by the pleasant buzz that still lingers in her limbs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So a little break from the snark for some soft, supportive Oliver (and Felicity letting herself be a little vulnerable - only with him, of course). What did you think?


	4. Handsy Frat Boys

“What’s this for again?” Oliver is lounging on Felicity’s bed, fingers trailing over her lavender duvet and bare toes digging idly into her plush carpet as she sifts through her wardrobe trying to pick out an outfit. 

“Frat party,” Felicity replies, coming out of her walk-in closet to stand in front of him wearing a shimmery dark blue tube dress that immediately sends his thoughts down a very dirty path. “Well?” she asks, turning in a quick circle.

Oliver looks her up and down, making a show of checking her out, taking extra long just to annoy her. 

“Acceptable?” she asks dryly, when he eventually drags his eyes back up to her face. 

He chews his bottom lip, making her wait for his verdict and buying himself time because the truth is she looks fucking delectable. 

“I think it’s a dress,” he says, instinctively going the _annoy her_ route to buy time and distract from the situation developing in his pants.

_“Oliver -”_

“I think it’s blue.”

“For frack’s sake -”

“And sparkly.”

“- if you don’t have an opinion just say so, you jerk,” she says, sounding equally exasperated and amused.

“And you look great,” he finally says, knowing from years of experience just how far he can push her before her loud voice makes an appearance. “You’ll be fighting them off,” he adds, matter of factly, because it’s the absolute truth. He’s been to enough frat parties to know. “Assuming that’s what you’re going for,” he says in an undertone, imagining the swarm of horny, handsy frat guys who are going to positively drool over her. Running their sticky, sweaty hands down the curves of her body, made extra easy due to the dress that fits her like a second skin.

She lifts a suspicious eyebrow at his tone. “Okay, and...?” she prompts, stepping closer to knock her knee against his.

Oliver smiles slowly, lifting his shoulders in an elaborate shrug while debating whether to give voice to any of the uncharitable sentiments churning like acid in his stomach. 

“What?” she huffs exasperatedly. 

The way she stands there, barefoot with her hands on her hips and absolutely no clue just how devastating she looks, only increases the uncomfortable feeling twisting in his gut, but he only shrugs. “If you want to make it easy for them, it’s none of my business,” he says, trying to filter out any hint of what she sometimes refers to as his _caveman tendencies._

With mixed success, he notes, as honest confusion flickers over her face, followed by distinct displeasure. “Oliver Queen, are you judging me?”

“I would never,” he says quickly. And it’s true, he would _never_ judge her. It’s one of the foundations of their friendship that has only gotten stronger as they’ve gotten older: mutual respect and support for each other’s choices.

But that doesn’t mean he doesn’t still feel a strong protective impulse toward her, left over from when they were kids and his protection and friendship had sheltered her from the ignorant cruelty of the other kids at school. And though it’s been years since anyone has dared to underestimate her, she still tolerates some residual over-protectiveness because she knows he just wants what’s best for her. 

Lately, however, his over-protectiveness has been manifesting in a new, more potent and less selfless way - a fact that he’s quite sure she would not appreciate, if she knew. 

_“Sure_ you wouldn’t,” she replies sarcastically, pinning him with a penetrating look that makes him especially glad she can’t read his thoughts. “Just like you have _no_ opinions about how much I drink or who I choose to go out with. Say what’s on your mind, Oliver. You think this dress makes me look trashy?”

Oliver pushes himself into an upright position. “I definitely didn’t say that Felicity, don’t put words in my mouth.”

“Then what?”

He reaches out to draw an idle finger down her arm, considering how to phrase what he wants to say in a way that won’t get him into trouble. “I just don’t know if drunken frat guys really deserve to see you like this, that’s all,” he says mildly.

He can feel her body relax a little, but there’s an undercurrent of lingering defensiveness in her voice when she says, “‘Cause you’re in such a position to be judging drunken frat guys….”

“But that’s my point,” he cuts in, catching her hands and squeezing them. “It’s _because_ I’ve been a drunken frat guy that I can say with confidence that they are _definitely_ not worthy of you in that dress.” He offers her a small, self-deprecating smile, hoping that she’ll let the subject drop.

She eyes him narrowly, the corners of her lips curving up like she wants to smile but she’s not sure if he’s being fully honest with her.

He’s not sure he’s being fully honest, either.

For the past week, they’ve been going about their normal lives as roommates and friends, not mentioning what happened the night he sent Isabel home early. And just like after the last time, things have been fine. No awkward silences, no stilted conversations. Other than a new current of awareness hovering in the peripheral edges of their usual interactions - an ironically raised eyebrow here and a barely suppressed smirk there - their friendship hasn’t changed at all.

He knows he should feel relief, because the last thing he wants is for something like this to come between them. But a tiny part of him is disappointed, he has to admit. That it didn’t change anything, didn’t seem to mean anything deeper than momentary comfort and pleasure.

Not that he has any right to expect that it would. After all, if there’s one thing they’ve both always agreed on, it’s that sex is just sex. Meant to be enjoyed without any further significance, as long as all parties are on the same page. 

There’s no reason he should expect her to suddenly change that longstanding attitude just because it’s _him._ No matter how much his reckless heart wishes she would.

To get things back on track, he untangles their hands and leans back a little, biting his lip and smiling one of his wide-eyed smiles, the ones that they both know she can never resist.

Predictably, she sighs and rolls her eyes, the remaining tension leaving her body as she pulls him back toward her and begins combing her fingers through his hair. 

His heart skips a little at the sensation, and it’s all he can do not to moan. He wraps his arms around her and leans his head against her chest, soaking up the attention.

“What’s going on with you; are you okay?” she asks, and he can feel the rumble of her soft words against his ear.

Warning bells go off in his head at her subdued tone, signaling that his unusual behavior is a mystery that’s caught her notice. Definitely not good. 

“Yeah,” he says quickly, lifting his head so she can see the smile he’s plastered on his face. “Everything’s fine.” Her hands drop to his shoulders and unconsciously begin to knead the muscles there, but her frown only deepens. “Felicity, I swear.”

He fixes her with a more potent, earnest version of the pleading puppy dog look, silently begging her to believe him, and after a long moment she sighs. 

“Okay,” she says, but her sharp eyes continue to watch him carefully for several long seconds as he gazes steadily up at her, his hands resting lightly on her hips.

He breathes a quiet sigh of relief when the worry finally clears from her face, and the familiar feeling of comfort and ease between them returns. 

Her eyes roam over his face, apparently lost in thought, while her hands play with the short hairs at the nape of his neck, and he lets himself watch her. Lit by the late afternoon sunlight, she is luminous, and not just because the color of her dress brings out the blue of her eyes, or because the light catches golden highlights in her hair. Rather, it’s the unfathomable depth and honesty in her gaze, the sexy confidence of her slightly upturned lips, the way the subtlest indentations of her dimples are both impossibly adorable and wildly sexy at the same time. She’s just so fucking beautiful, the kind of beautiful that punches him in the gut when he leasts expects it. 

After an extended moment, she is evidently satisfied that he’s okay. He watches the mischief seep back into her expression before she steps back and spins in a slow circle. “So, honestly, tell me what you think.” 

Oliver thinks, honestly, that there’s no way he’s going to tell her about the way his heart stutters every time he just looks at her lately, but he dutifully casts his eyes over her, trying to find that easy, playful rhythm that has characterized their relationship for years.

He knows how it’s supposed to go: he insults her, and she insults him back in a fast-paced back and forth of one-upmanship that she will inevitably win, because she’s Felicity, and he has no hope of keeping up with her whimsical, brilliant brain. Not that he minds in the least.

But as he slowly rakes his eyes down her body, taking in the way she smoothes her hands down the short dress and then extends one leg toward him so that the hemline rides up, exposing a naked, shapely thigh, he’s finding it extremely hard to get back to that familiar, platonic mindset.

Very, _very_ hard. Tangibly, painfully hard, and he casually - he hopes - crosses one leg over the other to hide the very obvious erection that is back with a vengeance. 

She’s standing with her hands on her hips, the look on her face growing more concerned the longer she waits for his answer, so he clears his throat and tries to remember what a normal response sounds like.

Desperately, he latches onto the first thing that catches his attention. “This heart shape here,” he declares, gesturing to the neckline of her dress, and _not_ her exposed shoulders and the sexy curve of her collarbones, “this is more ‘sweet sixteen’ than ‘sexy vixen.’”

Okay, not his best.

Felicity searches his face for a long moment before frowning and glancing down at her chest. He tries and utterly fails not to think about what the view must look like from her angle. “Now see, that surprises me,” she muses.

“What surprises you?” he asks, dutifully walking into whatever joke she’s planning at his expense, grateful that she’s playing along rather than further questioning his strange behavior. 

“Your porn search history has led me to believe that ‘barely legal’ is your preferred demographic,” she says after a beat, delivering the punchline with a smirk that only intensifies the problem in his pants. 

He squints, floundering for a snappy reply but failing because all the blood in his body has rushed straight to his dick, taking his cognitive abilities with it. “So what you’re saying is that you chose this dress with my preferences in mind,” he says slowly.

Genuine surprise washes over her face, her gorgeous mouth dropping open in a way that sends his thoughts in a very specific direction, but when her face clears and the teasing smirk returns in full force, he knows he’s in real trouble.

“Oh Oliver,” she says sweetly, leaning down so their faces are only inches apart, “if I wanted your attention, the neckline of my dress would have nothing to do with it.”

“What do you mean by that?” he asks warily.

She arches a perfect eyebrow at him. “I mean that we both know that you, Oliver Queen, are very much an ass man.” 

Her direct gaze holds him captive as the memory of last week’s incident rears up like a blazing bonfire between them, and along with it, acute awareness of the line they’re toeing. Again.

Oliver watches her carefully, heart racing, wondering if he’s reading the situation correctly. Wondering if it’s smart of him to continue playing with fire, knowing he’s the one likely to get burned. 

But when she tilts her head in challenge, a devious smile pulling at her lips, the cautious voice is well and truly drowned out by the demands of his raging dick.

Slowly, still watching her face for any change in expression, he uncrosses his legs and draws her toward him by her hips. She gasps as his hands slide smoothly around to cup her ass, but she lets him tug her closer to him.

When she’s standing within the vee of his spread legs, his fingers once again pressed against her firm bottom, something in him settles. This, finally, is what he’s been craving all week. Even as he’s tried to push the memories of their intimate encounter out of his head, his fingertips have been itching with the need to touch her, his stomach has been tied in restless knots. But now, he can indulge. 

Unconsciously he begins to knead the muscles under his fingers, getting reacquainted with this level of intimacy. She hums and closes her eyes as his thumbs press slow circles into her flesh, and his mouth goes dry with the knowledge of the pleasure he’s giving her. “So what you’re saying is, if you wanted my attention, you’d wear a tiny, tight dress that clings to your ass.”

“Mmhmm.” She steps even closer to him, yielding to the coaxing pressure of his hands.

“One that rides up - a lot like this one’s doing - so that I could gain better access if I wanted to touch,” he says in a low rumble as one of his hands goes to her thigh and begins to play with the short hemline, inching it up.

“Basically, yeah,” she breathes. Her eyes are still closed as he gazes up at her, her face a picture of bliss.

“Well, in that case, this dress is exactly what I like,” he says, and his other hand joins the other in sliding the tight dress up her thighs, “but that only proves my point.”

The smugness in his voice catches her attention and she looks down at him, slightly dazed. “Your point? What point?” 

He smirks. “That this isn’t the right dress to wear to your frat party.”

She scrunches her nose in confusion. “Because…?”

“Because I won’t be there to appreciate it.”

Her eyes flare with understanding, and she pauses to let her words gather significance. “Well then I suppose you’re just going to have to _appreciate_ it before I leave.” He follows her pointed gaze down to his lap, where his thick erection is prominently pressing against his sweatpants. 

Oh, fuck yes.

A lick of heat scorches through his veins, burning away any of his remaining reservations. He draws his hands up her inner thighs, intent on getting his hands on her again as soon as possible, but she grabs his wrists to stop him. 

“Uh-uh,” she says to his confused, upturned face, before deliberately placing his hands back in his lap and unceremoniously dropping down to the floor. 

Oh jesus. His brain short-circuits at the sight of her on her knees in front of him, at the dark, knowing look flashing in her eyes, and all he can do is watch as she pulls his waistband down and takes his heavy erection out of his pants.

Her hands are cool and sure, soft and smooth and very, very capable. 

“Oh god,” he gasps as she feels along his aching shaft, nimble fingers taking measure of his size and length. 

“Hmmm…” she responds thoughtfully. “Bigger than I thought it’d be.” She pins him with a direct look as her thumb sweeps over his thick, glossy head. "And that's saying something."

His dick swells with a flood of primitive, masculine arousal in response to her words, but Oliver is determined to keep up with her. “And have you thought about it a lot?” 

“A reasonable amount, I’d say,” she replies, lips curving in a maddening smile.

“How much counts as reasonable?” he pants, starting to sweat under her hot gaze.

She considers his question while her hands glide along his length, familiarizing herself with him, testing his responses, and enjoying making him squirm if the smile teasing at her lips is any indication. “Well,” she says eventually, “one does have to verify the rumors and hearsay when given the opportunity.”

“So, the photo,” he says, striving to appear nonchalant though the thought of her looking at that dick pic is enough to drive him crazy, even if her hands weren’t currently all over him, but they are and oh god he has to be careful or he’s going to lose it immediately.

“The photo,” she confirms, gently dragging a finger along the underside of his head.

“Oh fuck,” he groans, momentarily squeezing his eyes shut. He sucks in a deep breath, struggling for control, because _Felicity is casually handling his pulsing cock and she'd been looking at the picture of his dick and -_ breathe. “So the photo was misleading, then.”

“Definitely misleading. But that’s okay, because I prefer a hands-on investigation anyway,” she says, proving her point as she slowly fists him from base to tip.

“Is that what this is?” he asks tightly, eyes locked on hers and rocking his hips in response to her ministrations. 

“In a manner of speaking.”

“Well I’ve always appreciated your dedication to the truth, Felicity, but never quite as much as in this moment.”

She laughs, her eyes sparking with a new kind of knowing amusement that makes his breath catch, but then she begins to stroke him in earnest, alternating hands and establishing a slow but deliberate pace that immediately has him writhing.

“Shit, Felicity,” he moans, instinctively reaching out to bury a hand in her hair.

She hums in response, urging him to lift his hips so she can pull his sweatpants and boxers down, dragging them off and tossing them aside so she can get closer, fitting herself between his spread legs. He scoots to the edge of the bed, giving her better access. 

“Thank you,” he hears her say, as if from far away. Her voice registers as a low, pleasant murmur straight from his fantasies. 

Her hands pumping his dick are very real, however, her grip a perfect balance between gentle and demanding as she milks his shaft. The image of her small hands wrapped around him - so small that her fist doesn’t quite reach around his girth - sends a surge of primal lust coursing through his system. Oliver’s eyes are glued to the sight, so fucking hot that it’s all he can do not to fuck wildly into her hand, and when he pulls his eyes away to look at her face, he sees that Felicity is just as fascinated. The hungry look on her face as she watches herself playing with him thickens his already straining dick, and he fights the impulse to throw her down onto the bed and bury himself as deeply as possible inside her. 

“Oh, fuck, Felicity,” he groans, trying to rein in his rapidly unraveling control by closing his eyes and focusing on one thing at a time: the tight fit of the dress, how her ass had felt in his hands, the way she’d moaned at his touch. Even as he gathers his restraint, he’s unable to keep himself from thrusting up into her fist. “So fucking good,” he breathes.

She only hums again, adding a twist to her stroke and petting his engorged head with a sensitive touch that feels like she’s been handling his dick her whole life. 

“God, you’re better at this than I am,” he says, the words just slipping out before he has a chance to think.

Felicity lets out a bright, genuine laugh at that, and Oliver lifts his head and sheepishly meets her eyes, but she’s breathing shallowly and gazing back at him with blown pupils. “Better than when you took care of yourself last week?” she asks with a directness that catches his breath. 

“So much better,” he admits in a choked voice. 

She holds his gaze, naked awareness of how much he’s at her mercy - and how much she likes it - snapping between them, and when she licks her lips and flicks her eyes back to his dick, he knows they’re both thinking about what it would be like if she were to lower her head and take him in her mouth. It would be so easy, only a matter of a few inches - and a line that can never be uncrossed. 

He holds his breath, half needing her to close the distance, half afraid of what might happen if she does, but she only takes him more firmly in her hand, letting him read the clear desire in her eyes. He can’t look away as her tongue slowly pokes out from between her lips, and the images run unbidden through his mind as he pumps into her fist: her tongue and lips massaging his shaft, her throat opening and taking him in deep, _so deep,_ her cheeks hollowing as she sucks him, the tip of her tongue sliding along the ridge of his head. Felicity regards him steadily as his gaze shifts between her mouth and her eyes and he swears she can read every thought in his head when she begins to mimic the fantasy with her hands. She teases his length with soft fingertips before wrapping his girth in both hands, stroking him firmly as if he’s buried deep in her warm grip. Their eyes remain locked as she glides her thumbs over his sensitive, glossy head and stimulates the underside of his glans with feather-light touches, adjusting her movements to his unconscious reactions so that all he knows is the rushing, thumping ecstasy building and tightening in his belly.

The moment stretches, suspended in a timeless space of shared pleasure and intimacy, and Oliver barely dares to breathe, his shallow pants escaping parted lips as quietly as possible. Eventually the intensity grows too much, and Felicity is the one who breaks, looking back down to watch her hands work him over. 

His chest constricts as his eyes trace over her lowered face, taking in the sweep over her eyelashes against her rounded cheeks, the pert, lightly freckled nose, features so familiar and so, so precious to him. He’s seen that nose wrinkled with every possible emotion - anger and disgust as well as amusement and joy, seen her eyes lit with passion and her cheeks red with embarrassment, and he loves it all, _loves her._ His heart thumps loudly and the blood rushes in his ears as his feelings threaten to overwhelm him, colliding with the exquisite pleasure of her hands - _her_ hands - caressing his erect cock. 

He can feel himself getting close and he forces his eyes to stay open and watch her as she bends to her task, while a low tingle collects in his balls and tension rapidly begins to gather at the base of his spine. His impending release feels as unstoppable as a tidal wave, cresting, higher and higher and about to break, any second.

“Felicity!” he grunts, “I’m gonna come, Felicity. Stop, I’m gonna come!”

Instead of sitting back, she helpfully lifts his shirt out of the way and then redoubles her efforts, the fingers of one hand expertly milking him with just the right amount of pressure while the other cups his balls, both hands working together to maximize his pleasure as she brings him to the edge. 

“Felicity, no, I’m serious,” he chokes, suddenly aware that he’s about to shoot his load all over Felicity. _Felicity._

Panic seizes him - what if she’s repulsed, finds him disgusting, never speaks to him again? - but it’s too late to do anything about it. Everything in his body is rushing irreversibly toward the familiar precipice, and all he can do is surrender. 

She holds his heart and his pleasure cupped in her capable hands and he submits completely to her touch, trusting her to take care of him as he is overwhelmed by raw, animal passion. He unleashes a primal groan from deep in his chest as every nerve in his body thrills with heightened sensation, tingling and tightening down his spine in a final tremor of ecstasy before he reaches his peak, and then he’s there, throwing his head back in an explosion of pleasure as he lets himself go, hot semen spurting from his swollen dick. 

“Oh god, Felicity,” he moans, luxuriating in her warm grip as he comes in intense, forceful shudders that wrack his entire body, one after another. As his orgasm begins to subside, he can feel his ejaculate dripping over her fist as she continues to coax the final pulses from his cock, and this time the thought fills his chest with a deep sense of satisfaction.

When he’s finished, he finds himself leaning back on his elbows, chest heaving with deep, sated breaths. Eventually he lifts his head and meets her impish smile a little sheepishly. “So, that happened,” he says with what he hopes is a casual grin.

Her smile deepens, the heart-stopping dimples making their appearance, as she regards him thoughtfully. Oliver holds his breath, eyes locked on hers and very, very aware that she’s still holding his dick in her semen-covered hands. “So I take it you approve of the dress?” she says at last, batting innocent eyelashes that dare him to deny it.

Oliver’s settling heartbeat stutters, but thankfully his higher brain functions are back up to par. Biting his lower lip, he pretends to consider her question. “I wouldn’t necessarily go that far.”

“Oh?” Her warningly arched eyebrow reaches a new height.

“Well, this little exercise didn’t exactly reassure me that handsy frat boys are going to be able to control themselves around you,” he smirks.

She tilts her head at him before glancing pointedly down at where she still holds him in her loose fist. “If anything, Oliver, I would say ‘this little exercise’ proves that when it comes to handsy frat boys? I’m the one in control.”

Oliver grins ruefully at her, because what can he say? When she’s right, she’s right.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just your usual disclaimer that this is meant to be a lower-effort, just-for-fun side project, meaning I'm trying not to let my Evil Inner Editor have her way. (The end result is that somehow I am both failing to be as chill about the whole thing as I'd planned, but also that I'm failing to live up to my typical standards of "perfectionism," so...I dunno, if you think it didn't suck, let me know? It would mean a lot to me. Thanks!! 😅😘)
> 
> Also! Follow me on Twitter: twitter.com/allimarie_xf 
> 
> and tumblr: allimariexf.tumblr.com
> 
> and if you're interested in joining our Olicity discord community where we have weekly Arrow rewatches and round-the-clock Olicity appreciation, message me in either of those places 😘

**Author's Note:**

> Hey....! Yep, you might be here to yell at me for not updating one of my many WIPs. 
> 
> I have been in the middle of editing my most recent one for like over a month, and I have a chapter almost ready to go, but I dunno. I just needed to get this one off my chest. I have a tendency to get really overwhelmed with the editing, so this story is a way for me to get out of my head and just lighten up a bit. Both with the content and the style. (This is my way of saying if it sucks, whatever I'm trying not to stress over it lol)
> 
> That being said I do hope you enjoy this, my first completely AU story! I am actually very excited for this little 'verse, which has been in the back of my brain for awhile now...but in order to keep that excitement alive, please let me know if you liked it with a comment and/or kudo! (It honestly makes a _huge_ difference.)


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